<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>I Am A Wreck (Without You) by otawritesthings</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706817">I Am A Wreck (Without You)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/otawritesthings/pseuds/otawritesthings'>otawritesthings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream Team (Video Blogging RPF), Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Colorblind GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Fire, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Minecraft, Modern Setting Retelling of Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore, Snowstorms, Stargazing, Unexpected Visitors, dreamnotfound, god dream, god sapnap, i have dreamteam brainrot, inspired by Baucis and Philemon, inspired by greek myth, line without a hook, minecraft au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 14:36:06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,478</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27706817</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/otawritesthings/pseuds/otawritesthings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which George doesn't stay in one place for too long, and Dream has never had a place to call home.<br/>--<br/>The winter wind rushed in as soon as the man let go of the handle, blowing the door wide open on his hinges. It banged against the wood with a deafening thud and remnant snow flooded his floor. But that wasn’t what had George’s mouth falling open and his words dying on his tongue. </p><p>It was the man that towered over him in the doorway.<br/>--<br/>Inspired by the myth of Baucis and Philemon. Title from "Line Without A Hook" by Ricky Montgomery.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>I Am A Wreck (Without You)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone! It's been a very,,, very long time since I've written anything in a while. You can thank writers block for that. But alas, I have mcyt brainrot like everyone else on the planet it seems, so I have put this together for you all. Please enjoy!</p><p>Any feedback is appreciated! Tell me what you liked and didn't like! Thoughts for future chapters? Comment below! It truly makes my day.<br/>Thank you to Aith, Blue, and Bea; my beta readers. I've never had beta readers before so this is quite poggers if I do say so myself.</p><p>Anyways, I hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>George was cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was the only thing on his mind as he huddled against his tiny furnace in the corner of his cottage. The lines and dots on his map were starting to become muddled with sleep and numbness in tandem, and when the yellowed paper slipped out of his hands, he watched it fall to the ground helplessly. His body trembled--whether due to the frigid wind or the rumbling of hunger in his stomach he didn’t know--and a gaze into the fire told him that it would soon be only embers. Dread pooled in his stomach. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Have I come all this way to die of frostbite?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The firewood had run dry the day before, drenched in the winter snow and useless to George as it was. It would take longer for him to find new wood than it would to dry the sodden logs. But that was yesterday, when the clouds told only stories of clear skies and warmer months to come, only to forsake him with their crystalline mirth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somewhere, the gods laughed at George’s peril.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was somewhere else, and George was here, snowed in to the brim and faced with the task of moving or diving into the flames for heat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With shuddering muscles, he pushed himself to his feet and slogged to his tiny bedroom off the kitchen. He noted with a scrunch of his nose that it was colder there than it was in the kitchen, and rued his decision to move. To become a ball frozen in the kitchen corner was preferable to </span>
  <em>
    <span>pneumonia.  </span>
  </em>
  <span>He donned another jacket on top of his previous and the sweater underneath, mumbling out a ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>shit’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>when his fingers scraped against the zipper and came away burning. The chill was seeping into his body like a deathly tea. He wished it would just turn back to leaves and crust away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And still, he forced his fumbling fingers to pry away his glasses, letting the colorful, sharp word fade away into blurs of amber and blue. With a huff that he could visibly see in the dim lighting, he pulled back the thick blue quilt on his bed and dove in, cherishing the warmth under the covers. With a wave of his hand he hushed the candle by his bed, and the world sunk into a dim orange as the furnace crackled down the hall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just let me sleep in peace for </span>
  <em>
    <span>once.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He groaned, and ducked his head into the covers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tomorrow he would go and get the firewood anyway, he decided. If he survived the night.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When George opened his bleary eyes, it was to the brightest orange light he had ever seen. His heart rate spiked, scrambling from his bedsheets towards the glow. Wandering hands found his glasses, and with them on he could see in full color the roaring blaze of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fire.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh… no…” he whispered. He shouldn’t have left the furnace going. He should have put it out. How </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid </span>
  </em>
  <span>of him to think that a cottage made of </span>
  <em>
    <span>wood </span>
  </em>
  <span>wouldn’t catch on fire--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stumbled into the kitchen, preparing himself to grab the water bucket he left by the door. When he had gone to bed, it had been frozen from the winter cold, but in this heat--</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>God, this </span>
  </em>
  <b>
    <em>heat.</em>
  </b>
</p><p>
  <span>The cottage was a roaring inferno. It was the ninth circle of hell waiting to swallow him whole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George stepped to the blaze...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then stopped. He stumbled into the kitchen half expecting everything from the crafting table to the wooden chairs to be alight with flames, licking and dancing like sadistic warriors. Instead, right before his eyes, was his cottage perfectly intact. The light itself just stemmed from the furnace, hotter and brighter than George had ever seen it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a minute.” He whispered, not trusting his voice to enter the silence. This had to be a dream. The coals were nothing but sparks when he had pried himself away from the stone oven. He had seen it. This fire, </span>
  <em>
    <span>the one right before his eyes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>was one that he could never make on his own. There had to be at least twenty logs in there-- and yet when he peered inside, he found none. Just the same scrap that had chilled his bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for the first time in days, George was warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scrambled to free himself from the confines of his jackets, noting bitterly that he was now blazing hot and wondering if you were meant to feel in dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set his garments down for mere seconds, returning to place the melted water bucket in the corner again--he hardly remembered grabbing it in his frenzy--when a soft knock echoed on wood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He froze. The only sound in the cottage was of the roaring fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it was again, the soft knock on wood. George could have chalked it up to the fire banding on his walls, but unmistakably so, the knock was coming from the kitchen door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone was outside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His body crawled with chills, but he knew these weren’t from the weather. A haunting had clawed its way inside his brain and nestled in his gut. Fear. Doubt. Anxiety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For who could be knocking on his door at this hour?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If George was awake, he would have left the door alone. Danger could lie on the other side, something wild and exciting that he was not prepared to face. But this was a dream… right? And George couldn’t die in a dream. It wasn’t real.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t stop him from grabbing his polished iron sword off the wall as he approached the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Knock. Knock.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is it?” George called, hating how his voice warbled. He had faced worse than this. Why was he afraid of a door?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George tensed his muscles and resigned himself to his fate. Now or never.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Open the door.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The winter wind rushed in as soon as the man let go of the handle, blowing the door wide open on his hinges. It banged against the wood with a deafening thud and remnant snow flooded his floor. But that wasn’t what had George’s mouth falling open and his words dying on his tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the man that towered over him in the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clad in a green cloak and easily six feet tall with lanky limbs, the newcomer stood in front of him like a giant. His dirty blonde -- although it looked more brown to George -- head dipped to the side lazily and his right hand pressed heavily on the doorframe and he leaned on it like a crutch. As the door swung wide and hit the wall with a dull </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the stranger straightened up and looked George in the eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or, George supposed he would have, except the man’s face was covered with a strikingly white mask. It taunted him with small black eyes and a smile that looked more sadistic than friendly carved into the front.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George tried to speak, but words died in his throat. His lips moved lamely, and yet no sound came out. He swallowed, heaved a shuddering breath, and licking his lips tried to utter at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>something.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“H-Hi…?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Well done, George.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The man huffed out what sounded like… a laugh, maybe? And ducked his head in greeting. “Can I come in?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George paused, breath catching in his throat. “U-Uh… sure?” He stepped to the side, feeling awfully confused and weak in the knees. The masked man stepped in, passing by George and shedding quickly melting snow on the ground. “Who… who are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man paused, broad shoulder’s stiffening under the green cloak. In the light George could see that it fell to his knees in an emerald green, held together by a shiny gold clasp that looked like it could pay for three weeks of meals from the village. His boots were made of brown, thick leather, and George ached to put his feet in a pair instead of his old boots that were worn through from walking. There was a lengthy silence in the air as the intruder froze, then like ice turning to water, his muscles relaxed and he turned on his heel to face George.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can call me... Clay.” He said, tipping his head to the side. “I’m sorry to intrude. I’m just traveling through and need a place to stay for the night. Ya know...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The snow” George supplied with an unsure nod, “Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” Clay nodded, lapsing into an uncomfortable silence. “Uh… what’s your name?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“George.” The brunette choked out, then, as though a switch was flipped in his mind and he suddenly remembered the situation, his body seemed to kick  into gear. He blinked rapidly and shook his head, running an unsteady hand through his dark hair. “Uhm, can I get you something to eat? Something to drink?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, George only had meager rations left over from his last trip to the village, siphoned away by the cold nights that blocked the only path from his small cottage to the center, but Clay nodded and his demeanor seemed to straighten up at the sound of food, and George felt suddenly obligated to give him some.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scrambled to the icebox, pulling out a piece of bread and a slab of steak. Dinner for two nights, normally, but Clay was also nearly two times his height and more than likely two times as hungry. He fumbled the box closed, tearing the bread in two and grabbing a wooden bowl from a shelf. Faintly behind him he recognized Clay had settled down at his beaten wooden table, noted by the clink of his golden buttons. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder, and found that white mask staring pensively back. He shivered, despite the heat of the fire, and turned back around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The steak he placed above the flames of the furnace in a black pot, jumping when the juice leapt up from the heat and threatened to singe his hands. He stepped away tentatively, shooting Clay another glance to find the man had slid his mask up over his mouth to eat, still covering his eyes. </span>
</p><p><span>“Why are you wearing a mask?” George wondered aloud, then froze in his tracks. Why would he ask him that? It was clearly none of his business and he barely knew the guy--</span><span><br/></span> <span>“I don’t know.” Was Clay’s answer, sounding more nonchalant than George felt. “I don’t like being seen. I’m afraid someone might recognize me.”</span></p><p>
  <span>George relaxed and eased out a huff of a laugh, “Popular, are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay shook his head, and his lips split into a smile. If he could see the rest of his face, George imagined he would be quirking his eyebrows awkwardly. “You could say that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So if you’re so popular,” George hummed, filling a clay cup with some water from his jug and placing it on the table, “Why are you here? This place is literally in the middle of nowhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay paused, chewing on some bread as if deep in thought, “I just want to get away, ya know? Escape the pressure for a bit.” He smirked, tilting his head toward George as if he could really see him through the mask, and George wondered if he could. “Besides, I could say the same about you. What’s a young handsome man doing living alone in “the middle of nowhere?””</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George blushed, feeling his throat suddenly constrict. He coughed awkwardly and turned to hide the redness that no doubt was spreading across his pale face. He busied himself with flipping the steak and pointedly didn’t look at Clay. What did that even </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess… I’m just like you.” George shrugged, “Just passing through. I don’t plan on staying for long.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay’s head turned down and the smile slid from his lips. “Really? It’s a nice place though. Seems homey enough.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s part of the problem.” George huffed, “I haven’t done the whole “home” thing in awhile I guess.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay hummed, but didn’t press the subject, something that George was thankful for. With the meat finished cooking he carefully fished it from the flames and set it in the middle of the table, grabbing a simple stone fork and knife from a drawer. Clay took it with a nod, and the two fell into silence again. George settled himself at the table across from Clay, feeling very out of water. Clay finished his portion of meat, then looked back at George curiously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those are interesting glasses. Where did you get em?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>George blinked, hand instinctively coming up to the rim of his glasses. “Oh! Uh, these were handmade by an old friend. He’s uh… he’s not well now, that’s kinda why I’m here… but uh yeah. He made them to fix my colorblindness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Colorblind?” Clay’s voice held a stitch of surprise, “Huh. So is my friend uh…” He seemed to pause for a minute, losing himself in his words, then collected himself, “Karl. My friend Karl.” He heaved a sigh, and George was acutely aware that whoever ‘Karl’ was, was more of a secret than Clay intended to let on. “Anyway, you said something about being here? Your friend… he’s unwell?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” George sniffed uncomfortably, “I’m trying to get him some medicine, but it’s a long way away. I’m just here for the winter. It’s too cold to travel now.” He shot a pointed look at the other man. “The snow is only going to get worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay swore under his breath and slumped back in his chair, pulling his mask back down with one hand. His lips and chin disappeared, and George was disappointed that he didn’t get a better look at him. “Do you think it’ll be traversable tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George looked out the singular kitchen window into the dark night, illuminated only by the moonlight. The snow had begun to pile in the spruce forest, creating mounds of sparking and deathly white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doubt it.” George shrugged, “You can stay here, though, until it clears, if you want. You can take my bed if you want, I don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clay shook his head, “No, no. Don’t worry about it. You’ve done enough for me already. I couldn’t intrude.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In any other situation, George would  have shrugged and let the wanderer on his way, but there was something in this man that dared George to let him stay. Some part of him held a secret that a little voice in George was telling him to unravel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not intruding, don’t worry about it.” George shook his head, “It’s the least I can do.” Even through the mask, George could tell Clay was smiling, and it tugged his lips into a grin of his own. “Besides, I haven’t had company in quite some time. Here, my room’s down the hall.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Chapters will update every other day unless there is a problem! You can catch up on my news on twitter by following me @ota_cos_. Thank you all for reading!<br/>&lt;3.</p><p>EXTRAS:<br/>George: He called me handsome???? JDHFLSKHFGSJLGFYHSDJGF--<br/>Clay: mmm nice steak</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>